What Doesn't Kill YouProbably Isn't Much Fun
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn and Gus' friendship, one-shots detailing their lives from 1985-2008. One chapter, one year.
1. Chapter 1

1985

"Forget it, Shawn!" Gus snapped, digging his heels into the soft earth of Shawn's front yard stubbornly. "I'm not playing _Goonies! _Just because you saw it fourteen times--"

"Eighteen." Shawn corrected him, tossing his friend his very favorite _Knight Rider_ backpack. "Here. You can carry our supplies."

"You saw it four times without me?" Gus asked, looking hurt as he caught the backpack and reluctantly slipped it over his shoulder.

"That's not the point, Gus." Shawn cleared his throat, quickly changing the subject before Gus found out the actual number was closer to 22. "The point is The Goonies went treasure hunting! Why can't we? We're totally better treasure hunters than them! We'll be rich!"

"Where would we even go?" Gus demanded. "There's no buried treasure in Santa Barbara."

"That's why we have to find a map first." Shawn told him.

"Where are we going to find a map?"

Shawn paused, apparently not having thought that far ahead.

"The map store?"

"There's no map store, Shawn." Gus sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Then where does my dad get all those road maps?" Shawn demanded.

Gus shrugged, absently fumbling with the straps on the backpack, which was heavier than he expected.

"I don't know." He mumbled. "Probably Triple-A."

"My dad's not an alcoholic!"

"Shawn, Triple-A is--"

But Gus didn't have a chance to explain the subtle differences between AAA and AA. Shawn snapped his fingers, a brilliant idea suddenly occurring to him.

"The gas station!" He exclaimed. "I saw him buy a map at the gas station down the street! I bet they have treasure maps, too!"

"Yeah, Shawn." Gus snorted sarcastically. "I'm sure the gas station sells treasure maps. They're right next to the Skittles…"

"Dude!" Shawn grinned, his eyes growing wide. "We should totally get Skittles while we're there, too! You can't treasure hunt without Skittles!"

"Shawn--"

"Do _you_ have a better idea for how to spend our Saturday?" Shawn demanded, not about to hear Gus' arguments.

Gus sighed in defeat.

Of course he didn't have a better idea.

He never had a better idea.

"No." He mumbled.

"Then, let's go to the gas station and buy a treasure map!"

"Fine…"

There was no point in fighting it anymore.

Shawn always won in the end, anyway…

They rode their bikes down the street, parking them next to the gas pumps and leaving their helmets dangling from the handle bars as they headed inside. The only car in the gas station parking lot was a beat-up Toyota, which was parked at the far end.

"Grab the Skittles." Shawn told Gus as they opened the door. "I'll ask about treasure maps."

He started to walk to the front counter, but stopped when he passed the only other customer in the store. He was a tall man with long, scraggily hair and a long, pink scar across his forehead. He was flipping through the magazines, his eyes shifting nervously around the store. Shawn stared at him for a long moment, certain he had seen him somewhere before.

_But where…?_

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the mental picture he had of the man's face…and that scar…

_I know I've seen that scar before…_

_…at the police station with Dad…_

_…in a picture…_

He gasped and opened his eyes again, suddenly realizing where he had seen the man before.

In a Wanted poster at the SBPD.

He could even see the words at the bottom: JOHN MARKINSON, WANTED FOR ARMED ROBBERY AND MURDER

Shawn slowly backed away from the man, who was still flipping through the magazines and didn't seem to even notice his presence.

He found Gus by the candy, debating between Skittles and Snickers.

"Which is better for treasure hunting?" He asked when he saw Shawn, holding the two options up for his friend's approval.

"Gus." Shawn hissed, his voice low and trembling. "We have to get out of here! I have to find my dad!"

"Why?"

"Because…" Shawn continued, still whispering as his eyes looked over at John Markinson again. "I think that guy is wanted for murder. I saw him on a poster at the police station."

Gus' eyes grew wide in terror.

"Really?" He whispered back. "Or is this like the time you thought the principal was an alien?"

"No, Gus! This is real! I have to get my--"

As if on cue, Henry's truck pulled into the parking lot. He pulled up to the door and got out, clearly already steaming mad about something. Shawn was glad to see he was dressed in his uniform, complete with his gun and cuffs.

He stormed in, immediately spotting Shawn and Gus by the candy.

"Shawn!" he shouted, marching over to them. "What the hell are you doing here? I've been driving all over looking for you two! You know you're not supposed to leave the yard without telling me where you're going! If I hadn't seen your bikes out there--"

"Dad!" Shawn interrupted him, still watching Markinson, who had clearly noticed that the previously quiet store now had an armed officer of the law in it.

"No, Shawn!" Henry snapped, not about to listen to more of his son's excuses. "Get your bikes. We're going home."

He spun on his heel to march out the door, but Markinson had come up behind him during his lecture.

"All right, cop." He growled, pulling a gun out from underneath his shirt and leveling it at Henry temple. "No one's going anywhere."

Henry blinked at the weapon being shoved into his face, but if he felt anything at all resembling fear, he certainly didn't let it show. He slowly stepped back from Markinson, putting himself between the gun and the two terrified boys behind him, his jaw setting firmly.

The clerk behind the counter had ducked out of sight, clearly not about to get involved.

Henry met Markinson's spiteful gaze coolly.

"That's my son." He snapped, his eyes narrowing.

Markinson stepped towards him, cocking the weapon.

"So?"

"So, don't you ever pull a gun on my son and his friend!"

Before Markinson could react, Henry's hand had grabbed the barrel of the gun while his leg swept behind him, knocking Markinson flat on his back and leaving Henry holding the piece. Markinson groaned and tried to roll over, but Henry was already kneeling on the floor next to him, his cuffs in hands.

"Don't you ever pull a gun on my son." He muttered again, snapping the cuffs on and dragging the still stunned Markinson to his feet.

When they reached the door, Henry paused.

"Come on, boys." He growled, looking back at Shawn and Gus, who hadn't budged an inch. "You'll have to make statements downtown."

He glanced at the clerk, who had poked his head up over the top of the counter.

"Don't go anywhere." He ordered. "I'll be back for yours later."

He kicked the door open and stepped outside, bringing Markinson with him.

Shawn and Gus still didn't move. They both had the same unblinking, slack-jawed expressions on their face.

"Dude…" Shawn grinned finally, turning to Gus, who looked like he was about to throw up. "That was so much better than _Goonies!_"


	2. 1986

_The top grossing movie of 1986 was Top Gun._

_Oh, yeah...I'm going there. :-)_

"I don't know about this, Shawn…" Gus mumbled hesitantly, looking over the edge of the steep hill. He couldn't even see the bottom over the treetops.

He was balancing his bike on the precipice, trying to work up the nerve to push himself over the edge. Shawn was next to him, ready to take the plunge on a moment's notice.

"Come on, Gus!" He urged with a grin, buckling his helmet on. "I feel the need…the need for speed!"

"I don't know…"

"It'll be fun!"

"But there's rocks…" Gus pointed out. "And trees…and no road…"

"There's a path." Shawn countered, pointing at the narrow, winding dirt path that snaked its way through the gigantic pines.

It wasn't exactly safe looking…

"But--"

"Gus! Come on!" Shawn whined, growing impatient with his friend's hedging. "How are we ever going to be jet pilots if we can't even drive our bikes down a hill?"

"I don't want to be a jet pilot!" Gus informed him. "You know I get airsick!"

"Fine." Shawn rolled his eyes, dropping his bike on the ground and going over to his backpack, which he had dropped underneath a tree. He unzipped it and pulled out a jump rope and an umbrella, bringing them back to Gus a few moments later.

"Here." He said, tossing the items to his friend.

"What are these for?"

"You tie the umbrella to the back of your seat with the jump rope." Shawn explained, clearly having given this a lot of thought. "It'll be like a drag chute. It'll slow you down so you can make the turns easier."

"Are you INSANE?" Gus shouted, throwing them on the ground in disbelief. "That's not a drag chute! Are you trying to get me killed?"  
"It'll totally work!" Shawn promised. "Have I ever--"

"Whatever you're about to say," Gus snapped, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. "The answer is yes! You have!"

"Gus! I'm hurt." Shawn pouted.

"Not as hurt as you're going to be when you crash going down that hill." Gus muttered.

"I'm not going to crash! And neither are you!"  
"You know that's right!" Gus snorted, taking his helmet off. "Because I'm not doing it!"

He started to walk his bike back towards the less steep of the hill they had come up, but stopped a few steps later when he heard Shawn's voice behind him.

"I think you dropped an egg."

Gus slowly turned back around, his eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"Nothing…" Shawn shrugged innocently. "…I'm just saying…I think you dropped an egg."  
"I'm not chicken, Shawn!"

"Who said anything about chicken? Just because you dropped an egg…and you're growing feathers…and I'm pretty sure I see a beak starting to sprout…"

"Shawn…" Gus growled warningly, his fist starting to clench.

"Bwkaw!"

"Fine!" Gus shouted, marching his bike back to the edge of the hill. "I'll do it!"

Shawn grinned, already tying the umbrella to one end of the jump rope.

"Don't forget your drag chute."

Gus rolled his eyes and attached the other end of the jump rope to the back of his seat.

They both perched their bikes on the edge of the hill, looking down at the winding path before them.

"Ready?" Shawn asked, glancing at his friend out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah…"

"On 3?"

"No…" Gus shook his head, swallowing loudly, knowing he would puke if Shawn started to count. "Now!"

They pushed off, screaming at the top of their lungs as they careened down the hill. After three seconds of complete exhilaration, Gus was actually starting to enjoy the ride. He pedaled harder, still screaming and whooping.

"This is awesome!" He shouted at Shawn, who was about twenty feet ahead of him.

Suddenly, as Gus slowed down a little to turn around a bend in the path, the umbrella came flying at his head. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, but couldn't duck in time to avoid getting smacked. It hit him in the side of the head, knocking him clean off the bike and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Shawn saw him wipe-out and quickly pulled up, slowly pedaling back up the hill to Gus' side.

"Dude!" He grinned, reaching down and helping his battered and bruised friend to his feet. "That was awesome!"

"It wasn't awesome, Shawn." Gus groaned, wiping the debris off his khaki shorts. "I told you that stupid drag chute wouldn't work!"

"The drag chute worked fine!" Shawn snorted, clapping Gus on the back. "You just weren't going fast enough."


	3. 1987

"Shawn…" Gus groaned, just before his shoulders shook with another loud hiccup. "Help! I—_hic—_can't stop—_hic—_hiccupping!"

He clamped his hand tightly over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to trap the horrible sounds inside.

But it didn't do any good.

He kept right on hiccupping.

In fact, the harder he tried to fight it, the worse it got.

"_Hic…Hic…Hic…_Shawn!..._Hic…_Do something!" He pleaded.

Shawn dropped his comic book on the tree house floor and stood up, suddenly grinning from ear to ear.

"I know how to cure hiccups." He assured his friend. "But…you're going to have to trust me."

"I'll-_hic_- try anything!"

"That's what I'm counting on." Shawn grinned, quickly disappearing down the rope ladder. "I'll be right back Don't move!"

Gus watched from the tree house door as his friend ran across the backyard to the house, letting the screen door slam behind him.

"I'm—_hick—_going to regret this." He groaned, knowing Shawn already has something awful and humiliating up his sleeve.

But he didn't care.

Whatever Shawn came up with, it couldn't be as bad as the hiccups.

Shawn appeared again a few minutes later with a large, brown grocery sack. He dropped it on the tree house floor

"Okay…" he announced happily, already rooting through the bag. "In here, I have every cure for the hiccups known to man. Let's start with the basics."

He pulled half a lemon out of the bag and tossed it deftly across the tree house to Gus.

"Suck on that." He ordered.

Gus caught it, raising a questioning eyebrow at his friend.

"A lemon?" He asked hesitantly. "Are you—_hic_—sure?"

"Just suck it, Gus."

Gus sighed and closed his eyes, raising the sour fruit to his mouth. In inhaled as deeply as his affliction would allow, then quickly put it in his mouth and started to suck. His mouth puckered and his eyes immediately started to water, but he kept sucking.

Finally, he couldn't stand the burning sourness anymore. He spit it out on the floor and wiped his tongue off frantically on his sleeve.

"That's—_hic—_disgusting!" He groaned, spitting on the floor to get the last of the taste of his mouth. "And it—_hic—_didn't even work!"

"Of course it didn't." Shawn shrugged, already digging through the bag again. "Lemons aren't a cure for the hiccups. I was just testing how dedicated you are to the process…now that I know you'll suck on a lemon, I know you'll try _this._"

He grinned and pulled something else out of the bag, tossing it to Gus.

"Hot—_hic—_sauce?" Gus read the label on the red bottle, sounding more than just a little apprehensive.

"Sure." Shawn nodded. "You have to chug it, though…it only works if you chug."

Gus glared at him, hurling the plastic bottle back across the tree house.

"I'm not chugging hot_—hic—_sauce, Shawn!"

"Do you want to get rid of the hiccups or not?" Shawn demanded, throwing it right back.

"Yes!"

"Then chug!"

Gus sighed, staring down at the bottle in his hands.

"Are you _–hic—_sure?"

"Of course!"

"Okay…"

Gus opened the bottle and clamped his eyes shut. He could already smell the spicy aroma filling the tree house. He brought it to his lips, allowing a single drop to touch his tongue.

"Owww!" He howled, throwing it aside as his mouth was suddenly set on fire. "I can't_—hic—_chug that!"

"Don't be a wimpy Wilson, Gus!" Shawn urged. "Chug!"

"No!"

"Fine…" Shawn sighed, reaching back into the bag. "How about vinegar?"

"Ewww! No!"

"But it's guaranteed!"

"I don't _–hic— _care, Shawn. I'm not drinking vinegar!"

"Fine." Shawn rolled his eyes, grabbing the bag and heading back to the tree house door. "I'll find something—OH MY GOD!" He shouted suddenly, gesturing down at the ground.

"What?" Gus gasped, his eyes growing wide in terror at his friend's horrified expression.  
"My dad's coming! And he looks pissed about _something_!"

Gus quickly ran across the door alongside his friend, looking down at the ground, expecting to see Henry standing there fuming.

But Henry wasn't there.

"What the heck, Shawn?" He growled, punching his friend in the arm bitterly. "Your dad's not down there."

"I know." Shawn laughed, already heading down the rope ladder. "But it scared you, didn't it? My dad's the only sure-fire cure for hiccups."


	4. 1988

"Gus?" Shawn mumbled, reaching across the lunch table into his friend's _Superboy_ lunchbox. "Are you going to eat your pineapple chunks? Can I have them?"

He snatched the can of fruit away before Gus could protest. Even after he tauntingly tossed it up in the air and caught it a few times, expecting his friend to try to get back from him, Gus still didn't play along with the game. He remained still, staring intently into the distance, completely oblivious to Shawn's very existence.

"Dude," Shawn snorted, trying to follow his friend's line of sight across the cafeteria. "What's so…"

He stopped himself when he saw her.

Gilda Collinsworth.

She was everything Shawn knew his friend liked in a girl.

Smart…

Cute…

Exactly two years older…

Red-head…

Breathing…

He grinned and nudged Gus with his elbow, his eyes lighting up with the possibilities before him.

"Dude, she's cute."

Gus blinked and looked over at him, seeming to realize for the first time that he wasn't alone at the table.

"I know," he mumbled, looking down at his now empty lunchbox.

"Hey!" he exclaimed suddenly, picking it up and turning it inside-out as he frantically searched for something. "Where's my pineapple?"

"That's not important right now, Gus," Shawn cleared his throat, quickly hiding the can under the table before Gus saw it. "Go talk to her!"

"What?" Gus scoffed, glancing longingly back at the gorgeous red-head. "Are you kidding me? I can't talk to her!"

"Why not?" Shawn snorted. "I do! All the time!"

"Asking her if she knows where you parked your motorcycle isn't talking to her, Shawn," Gus rolled his eyes. "And it's not even a good line! You're twelve! You can't even drive a motorcycle yet!"  
"But when I _can_," Shawn countered, crossing his arms and grinning widely. "I'll totally have my line down!"

He leaned forward, draping his arm over Gus' shoulder as they both watched Gilda talking and laughing with her friends. Every few seconds, her nose would scrunch up as something struck her particularly funny. Every time it did, Gus sighed painfully.

"So…what's your line going to be?" Shawn asked, giving him a gentle shove. "I'd go with 'Hi, I'm Gus. I have 365 pairs of sweat socks.'"

"Really?" Gus blinked. "Would that work?"

"No," Shawn snorted. "And I wouldn't take the _Superboy_ lunchbox with you, either."

"What's wrong with _Superboy?_" Gus demanded, looking wounded.

"Nothing! But why didn't you wear your David Hasselhoff t-shirt today? Girls love David Hasselhoff!"

"I want her to like _me_, Shawn," Gus sighed, refusing to budge from his seat. "Not the guy on my shirt."

"Then why don't you get _your_ face put on a t-shirt?" Shawn suggested. " Then she'll like you _and_ the guy on your shirt!"

Gus rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to explain to Shawn why this was, quite possibly, the stupidest thing he had ever heard, but Shawn was long gone now.

Lost in Shawn Plan World.

"Oh! I know!" he was saying, completely forgetting he was talking to Gus and not himself. "All you have to do is write a hit song! Then you'll get your own T-shirt! I already have the title! _I'm Better Than David Hasselhoff So Why Don't You Know I'm Alive?..._or maybe _Monster Mash…_but I think that one's already taken…"

"Shawn!" Gus snapped, smacking his friend in the head. "I'm not going to write a hit song."

"Why not?" Shawn blinked in surprise, rubbing his sore head.

"Because even if I wrote a song, it would take me at least five years to get a record contract," Gus explained, suddenly sounding quite knowledgeable. "…and probably another year to actually get a studio album made. Not to mention the time it takes to promote an album put out by a new artist…by the time I got a t-shirt, I'd be old! Almost sixteen!"

"Wow," Shawn agreed with a low whistle. "That is old…I guess you should just go talk to her now, then, huh?"

He grinned and gave his friend another shove in Gilda's general direction. This time, Gus actually stood up…and then promptly sat back down again.

"I can't," he moaned. "I don't know what to say!"

"Try: 'Hi, I'm Gus…and I'm best friends with the coolest kid in school!'"

"But Derek Bradley isn't my best friend," Gus argued with a sly smirk. "You are!"

Shawn scowled and punched his best friend in the arm. "Shut up."

Gus laughed. "I don't think that'll work, anyway," he lamented. "I don't have an opening line, Shawn."

Shawn grinned, suddenly remembering the can of pineapple chunks under the table. He quickly reached under and grabbed it, plopping it between him and Gus.

"Hey!" Gus exclaimed, reaching for it. "Those are mine!"

Shawn ignored his accusation, however, and quickly popped the top off the can before Gus got to it. He pulled out a single chunk, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he lined Gilda up in his sights. Gus' eyes grew wide in horror as he realized what his friend was thinking.

"Shawn! Don't!" he pleaded, but it was too late.

Shawn had already launched the pineapple across the cafeteria, striking Gilda right smack in the middle of the forehead.

Gus groaned as the wet, sloppy mess ran down her cheeks and landed on the table with a dull _plop._

"There's your opening line, Gus," Shawn beamed, turning proudly back to his best friend. "Ask her if she was just hit by a flying pineapple!"


End file.
